Confessio Amantis

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Hierafterward hou so it falle,Yit into now my will hath beTo do justice and equiteIn forthringe of comun profit;Such hath ben evere my delit.Bot of o thing I am beknowe,The which mi will is that ye knowe: 2960The lawe which I tok on honde,Was altogedre of goddes sondeAnd nothing of myn oghne wit;So mot it nede endure yit,And schal do lengere, if ye wile.For I wol telle you the skile;The god Mercurius and no manHe hath me tawht al that I canOf suche lawes as I made,Wherof that ye ben alle glade; 2970It was the god and nothing I,Which dede al this, and nou forthiHe hath comanded of his graceThat I schal come into a placeWhich is forein out in an yle,Wher I mot tarie for a while,With him to speke, as he hath bede.For as he seith, in thilke stedeHe schal me suche thinges telle,That evere, whyl the world schal duelle, 2980Athenis schal the betre fare.Bot ferst, er that I thider fare,For that I wolde that mi laweAmonges you ne be withdraweTher whyles that I schal ben oute,Forthi to setten out of douteBothe you and me, this wol I preie,That ye me wolde assure and seieWith such an oth as I wol take,That ech of you schal undertake 2990Mi lawes forto kepe and holde."Thei seiden alle that thei wolde,And therupon thei swore here oth,That fro the time that he goth,Til he to hem be come ayein,Thei scholde hise lawes wel and pleinIn every point kepe and fulfille.Thus hath Ligurgius his wille,And tok his leve and forth he wente.Bot lest nou wel to what entente 3000Of rihtwisnesse he dede so:For after that he was ago,He schop him nevere to be founde;So that Athenis, which was bounde,Nevere after scholde be relessed,Ne thilke goode lawe cessed,Which was for comun profit set.And in this wise he hath it knet;He, which the comun profit soghte,The king, his oghne astat ne roghte; 3010To do profit to the comune,He tok of exil the fortune,And lefte of Prince thilke officeOnly for love and for justice,Thurgh which he thoghte, if that he myhte,For evere after his deth to rihteThe cite which was him betake.Wherof men oghte ensample takeThe goode lawes to avanceWith hem which under governance 3020The lawes have forto kepe;For who that wolde take kepeOf hem that ferst the lawes founde,Als fer as lasteth eny boundeOf lond, here names yit ben knowe:And if it like thee to knoweSome of here names hou thei stonde,Nou herkne and thou schalt understonde.Of every bienfet the meriteThe god himself it wol aquite; 3030And ek fulofte it falleth so,The world it wole aquite also,Bot that mai noght ben evene liche:The god he yifth the heveneriche,The world yifth only bot a name,Which stant upon the goode fameOf hem that don the goode dede.And in this wise double medeResceiven thei that don wel hiere;Wherof if that thee list to hiere 3040After the fame as it is blowe,Ther myht thou wel the sothe knowe,Hou thilke honeste besinesseOf hem that ferst for rihtwisnesseAmong the men the lawes made,Mai nevere upon this erthe fade.For evere, whil ther is a tunge,Here name schal be rad and sungeAnd holde in the Cronique write;So that the men it scholden wite, 3050To speke good, as thei wel oghten,Of hem that ferst the lawes soghtenIn forthringe of the worldes pes.Unto thebreus was Moi5sesThe ferste, and to thegipciensMercurius, and to TroiensFerst was Neuma Pompilius,To Athenes LigurgiusYaf ferst the lawe, and to GregoisForones hath thilke vois, 3060And Romulus to the Romeins.For suche men that ben vileinsThe lawe in such a wise ordeigneth,That what man to the lawe pleigneth,Be so the jugge stonde upriht,He schal be served of his riht.And so ferforth it is befalleThat lawe is come among ous alle:God lieve it mote wel ben holde,As every king therto is holde; 3070For thing which is of kinges set,With kinges oghte it noght be let.What king of lawe takth no kepe,Be lawe he mai no regne kepe.Do lawe awey, what is a king?Wher is the riht of eny thing,If that ther be no lawe in londe?This oghte a king wel understonde,As he which is to lawe swore,That if the lawe be forbore 3080Withouten execucioun,If makth a lond torne up so doun,Which is unto the king a sclandre.Forthi unto king AlisandreThe wise Philosophre bad,That he himselve ferst be ladOf lawe, and forth thanne overalSo do justice in general,That al the wyde lond abouteThe justice of his lawe doute, 3090And thanne schal he stonde in reste.For therto lawe is on the besteAbove alle other erthly thing,To make a liege drede his king.Bot hou a king schal gete him loveToward the hihe god above,And ek among the men in erthe,This nexte point, which is the fertheOf Aristotles lore, it techeth:Wherof who that the Scole secheth, 3100What Policie that it isThe bok reherceth after this.It nedeth noght that I delateThe pris which preised is algate,And hath ben evere and evere schal,Wherof to speke in special,It is the vertu of Pite,Thurgh which the hihe magesteWas stered, whan his Sone alyhte,And in pite the world to rihte 3110Tok of the Maide fleissh and blod.Pite was cause of thilke good,Wherof that we ben alle save:Wel oghte a man Pite to haveAnd the vertu to sette in pris,Whan he himself which is al wysHath schewed why it schal be preised.Pite may noght be conterpeisedOf tirannie with no peis;For Pite makth a king courteis 3120Bothe in his word and in his dede.It sit wel every liege dredeHis king and to his heste obeie,And riht so be the same weieIt sit a king to be pitousToward his poeple and graciousUpon the reule of governance,So that he worche no vengance,Which mai be cleped crualte.Justice which doth equite 3130Is dredfull, for he noman spareth;Bot in the lond wher Pite farethThe king mai nevere faile of love,For Pite thurgh the grace above,So as the Philosphre affermeth,His regne in good astat confermeth.Thus seide whilom Constantin:"What Emperour that is enclinTo Pite forto be servant,Of al the worldes remenant 3140He is worthi to ben a lord."In olde bokes of recordThis finde I write of essamplaire:Troian the worthi debonaire,Be whom that Rome stod governed,Upon a time as he was lernedOf that he was to familier,He seide unto that conseiller,That forto ben an EmperourHis will was noght for vein honour, 3150Ne yit for reddour of justice;Bot if he myhte in his officeHise lordes and his poeple plese,Him thoghte it were a grettere eseWith love here hertes to him drawe,Than with the drede of eny lawe.For whan a thing is do for doute,Fulofte it comth the worse aboute;Bot wher a king is Pietous,He is the more gracious, 3160That mochel thrift him schal betyde,Which elles scholde torne aside.Of Pite forto speke plein,Which is with mercy wel besein,Fulofte he wole himselve peineTo kepe an other fro the peine:For Charite the moder isOf Pite, which nothing amisCan soffre, if he it mai amende.It sit to every man livende 3170To be Pitous, bot non so welAs to a king, which on the whielFortune hath set aboven alle:For in a king, if so befalleThat his Pite be ferme and stable,To al the lond it is vailableOnly thurgh grace of his persone;For the Pite of him al oneMai al the large realme save.So sit it wel a king to have 3180Pite; for this Valeire tolde,And seide hou that be daies oldeCodrus, which was in his degreKing of Athenis the cite,A werre he hadde ayein Dorrence:And forto take his evidenceWhat schal befalle of the bataille,He thoghte he wolde him ferst consailleWith Appollo, in whom he triste;Thurgh whos ansuere this he wiste, 3190Of tuo pointz that he myhte chese,Or that he wolde his body leseAnd in bataille himselve deie,Or elles the seconde weie,To sen his poeple desconfit.Bot he, which Pite hath parfitUpon the point of his believe,The poeple thoghte to relieve,And ches himselve to be ded.Wher is nou such an other hed, 3200Which wolde for the lemes dye?And natheles in som partieIt oghte a kinges herte stere,That he hise liege men forbere.And ek toward hise enemisFulofte he may deserve pris,To take of Pite remembrance,Wher that he myhte do vengance:For whanne a king hath the victoire,And thanne he drawe into memoire 3210To do Pite in stede of wreche,He mai noght faile of thilke specheWherof arist the worldes fame,To yive a Prince a worthi name.I rede hou whilom that Pompeie,To whom that Rome moste obeie,A werre hadde in jeupartieAyein the king of Ermenie,Which of long time him hadde grieved.Bot ate laste it was achieved 3220That he this king desconfit hadde,And forth with him to Rome laddeAs Prisoner, wher many a dayIn sori plit and povere he lay,The corone of his heved deposed,Withinne walles faste enclosed;And with ful gret humiliteHe soffreth his adversite.Pompeie sih his pacienceAnd tok pite with conscience, 3230So that upon his hihe deisTofore al Rome in his Paleis,As he that wolde upon him rewe,Let yive him his corone neweAnd his astat al full and pleinRestoreth of his regne ayein,And seide it was more goodly thingTo make than undon a king,To him which pouer hadde of bothe.Thus thei, that weren longe wrothe, 3240Acorden hem to final pes;And yit justice nathelesWas kept and in nothing offended;Wherof Pompeie was comended.Ther mai no king himself excuse,Bot if justice he kepe and use,Which for teschuie crualteHe mot attempre with Pite.Of crualte the felonieEngendred is of tirannie, 3250Ayein the whos condicionGod is himself the champion,Whos strengthe mai noman withstonde.For evere yit it hath so stonde,That god a tirant overladde;Bot wher Pite the regne ladde,Ther mihte no fortune lasteWhich was grevous, bot ate lasteThe god himself it hath redresced.Pite is thilke vertu blessed 3260Which nevere let his Maister falle;Bot crualte, thogh it so falleThat it mai regne for a throwe,God wole it schal ben overthrowe:Wherof ensamples ben ynowheOf hem that thilke merel drowhe.Of crualte I rede thus:Whan the tirant LeonciusWas to thempire of Rome arrived,Fro which he hath with strengthe prived 3270The pietous Justinian,As he which was a cruel man,His nase of and his lippes botheHe kutte, for he wolde him lotheUnto the poeple and make unable.Bot he which is al merciable,The hihe god, ordeigneth so,That he withinne a time also,Whan he was strengest in his ire,Was schoven out of his empire. 3280Tiberius the pouer hadde,And Rome after his will he ladde,And for Leonce in such a wiseOrdeigneth, that he tok juiseOf nase and lippes bothe tuo,For that he dede an other so,Which more worthi was than he.Lo, which a fall hath crualte,And Pite was set up ayein:For after that the bokes sein, 3290Therbellis king of BulgarieWith helpe of his chivalerieJustinian hath unprisonedAnd to thempire ayein coroned.In a Cronique I finde alsoOf Siculus, which was ek soA cruel king lich the tempeste,The whom no Pite myhte areste,-He was the ferste, as bokes seie,Upon the See which fond Galeie 3300And let hem make for the werre,-As he which al was out of herreFro Pite and misericorde;For therto couthe he noght acorde,Bot whom he myhte slen, he slouh,And therof was he glad ynouh.He hadde of conseil manyon,Among the whiche ther was on,Be name which Berillus hihte;And he bethoghte him hou he myhte 3310Unto the tirant do likinge,And of his oghne ymaginyngeLet forge and make a Bole of bras,And on the side cast ther wasA Dore, wher a man mai inne,Whan he his peine schal beginneThurgh fyr, which that men putten under.And al this dede he for a wonder,That whanne a man for peine cride,The Bole of bras, which gapeth wyde, 3320It scholde seme as thogh it wereA belwinge in a mannes Ere,And noght the criinge of a man.Bot he which alle sleihtes can,The devel, that lith in helle fast,Him that this caste hath overcast,That for a trespas which he dedeHe was putt in the same stede,And was himself the ferste of alleWhich was into that peine falle 3330That he for othre men ordeigneth;Ther was noman which him compleigneth.Of tirannie and crualteBe this ensample a king mai se,Himself and ek his conseil bothe,Hou thei ben to mankinde lotheAnd to the god abhominable.Ensamples that ben concordableI finde of othre Princes mo,As thou schalt hiere, of time go. 3340The grete tirant Dionys,Which mannes lif sette of no pris,Unto his hors fulofte he yafThe men in stede of corn and chaf,So that the hors of thilke stodDevoureden the mennes blod;Til fortune ate laste cam,That Hercules him overcam,And he riht in the same wiseOf this tirant tok the juise: 3350As he til othre men hath do,The same deth he deide also,That no Pite him hath socoured,Til he was of hise hors devoured.Of Lichaon also I findeHou he ayein the lawe of kindeHise hostes slouh, and into meteHe made her bodies to ben eteWith othre men withinne his hous.Bot Jupiter the glorious, 3360Which was commoeved of this thing,Vengance upon this cruel kingSo tok, that he fro mannes formeInto a wolf him let transforme:And thus the crualte was kidd,Which of long time he hadde hidd;A wolf he was thanne openly,The whos nature privelyHe hadde in his condicion.And unto this conclusioun, 3370That tirannie is to despise,I finde ensample in sondri wise,And nameliche of hem fulofte,The whom fortune hath set alofteUpon the werres forto winne.Bot hou so that the wrong beginneOf tirannie, it mai noght laste,Bot such as thei don ate lasteTo othre men, such on hem falleth;For ayein suche Pite calleth 3380Vengance to the god above.For who that hath no tender loveIn savinge of a mannes lif,He schal be founde so gultif,That whanne he wolde mercy craveIn time of nede, he schal non have.Of the natures this I finde,The fierce Leon in his kinde,Which goth rampende after his preie,If he a man finde in his weie, 3390He wole him slen, if he withstonde.Bot if the man coude understondeTo falle anon before his faceIn signe of mercy and of grace,The Leon schal of his natureRestreigne his ire in such mesure,As thogh it were a beste tamed,And torne awey halfvinge aschamed,That he the man schal nothing grieve.Hou scholde than a Prince achieve 3400The worldes grace, if that he woldeDestruie a man whanne he is yoldeAnd stant upon his mercy al?Bot forto speke in special,Ther have be suche and yit ther beTirantz, whos hertes no piteMai to no point of mercy plie,That thei upon her tirannieNe gladen hem the men to sle;And as the rages of the See 3410Ben unpitous in the tempeste,Riht so mai no Pite aresteOf crualte the gret oultrage,Which the tirant in his corageEngendred hath: wherof I findeA tale, which comth nou to mynde.I rede in olde bokes thus:Ther was a Duk, which SpertachusMen clepe, and was a werreiour,A cruel man, a conquerour 3420With strong pouer the which he ladde.For this condicion he hadde,That where him hapneth the victoire,His lust and al his moste gloireWas forto sle and noght to save:Of rancoun wolde he no good haveFor savinge of a mannes lif,Bot al goth to the swerd and knyf,So lief him was the mannes blod.And natheles yit thus it stod, 3430So as fortune aboute wente,He fell riht heir as be descenteTo Perse, and was coroned king.And whan the worschipe of this thingWas falle, and he was king of Perse,If that thei weren ferst diverse,The tirannies whiche he wroghte,A thousendfold welmore he soghteThanne afterward to do malice.The god vengance ayein the vice 3440Hath schape: for upon a tyde,Whan he was heihest in his Pride,In his rancour and in his heteAyein the queene of Marsagete,Which Thameris that time hihte,He made werre al that he myhte:And sche, which wolde hir lond defende,Hir oghne Sone ayein him sende,Which the defence hath undertake.Bot he desconfit was and take; 3450And whan this king him hadde in honde,He wol no mercy understonde,Bot dede him slen in his presence.The tidinge of this violenceWhan it cam to the moder Ere,Sche sende anon ay wydewhereTo suche frendes as sche hadde,A gret pouer til that sche ladde.In sondri wise and tho sche casteHou sche this king mai overcaste; 3460And ate laste acorded was,That in the danger of a pass,Thurgh which this tirant scholde passe,Sche schop his pouer to compasseWith strengthe of men be such a weieThat he schal noght eschape aweie.And whan sche hadde thus ordeigned,Sche hath hir oghne bodi feigned,For feere as thogh sche wolde fleeOut of hir lond: and whan that he 3470Hath herd hou that this ladi fledde,So faste after the chace he spedde,That he was founde out of array.For it betidde upon a day,Into the pas whanne he was falle,Thembuisschementz tobrieken alleAnd him beclipte on every side,That fle ne myhte he noght aside:So that ther weren dede and takeTuo hundred thousend for his sake, 3480That weren with him of his host.And thus was leid the grete bostOf him and of his tirannie:It halp no mercy forto crieTo him which whilom dede non;For he unto the queene anonWas broght, and whan that sche him sih,This word sche spak and seide on hih:"O man, which out of mannes kindeReson of man hast left behinde 3490And lived worse than a beste,Whom Pite myhte noght areste,The mannes blod to schede and spilleThou haddest nevere yit thi fille.Bot nou the laste time is come,That thi malice is overcome:As thou til othre men hast do,Nou schal be do to thee riht so."Tho bad this ladi that men scholdeA vessel bringe, in which sche wolde 3500Se the vengance of his juise,Which sche began anon devise;And tok the Princes whiche he ladde,Be whom his chief conseil he hadde,And whil hem lasteth eny breth,Sche made hem blede to the dethInto the vessel wher it stod:And whan it was fulfild of blod,Sche caste this tirant therinne,And seide him, "Lo, thus myht thou wynne 3510The lustes of thin appetit.In blod was whilom thi delit,Nou schalt thou drinken al thi fille."And thus onliche of goddes wille,He which that wolde himselve strangeTo Pite, fond mercy so strange,That he withoute grace is lore.So may it schewe wel therforeThat crualte hath no good ende;Bot Pite, hou so that it wende, 3520Makth that the god is merciable,If ther be cause resonableWhy that a king schal be pitous.Bot elles, if he be doubtousTo slen in cause of rihtwisnesse,It mai be said no Pitousnesse,Bot it is Pusillamite,Which every Prince scholde flee.For if Pite mesure excede,Kinghode may noght wel procede 3530To do justice upon the riht:For it belongeth to a knyhtAls gladly forto fihte as reste,To sette his liege poeple in reste,Whan that the werre upon hem falleth;For thanne he mote, as it befalleth,Of his knyhthode as a LeonBe to the poeple a champiounWithouten eny Pite feigned.For if manhode be restreigned, 3540Or be it pes or be it werre,Justice goth al out of herre,So that knyhthode is set behinde.Of Aristotles lore I finde,A king schal make good visage,That noman knowe of his corageBot al honour and worthinesse:For if a king schal upon gesseWithoute verrai cause drede,He mai be lich to that I rede; 3550And thogh that it be lich a fable,Thensample is good and resonable.As it be olde daies fell,I rede whilom that an hellUp in the londes of ArchadeA wonder dredful noise made;For so it fell that ilke day,This hell on his childinge lay,And whan the throwes on him come,His noise lich the day of dome 3560Was ferfull in a mannes thoghtOf thing which that thei sihe noght,Bot wel thei herden al abouteThe noise, of which thei were in doute,As thei that wenden to be loreOf thing which thanne was unbore.The nerr this hell was upon chanceTo taken his deliverance,The more unbuxomliche he cride;And every man was fledd aside, 3570For drede and lefte his oghne hous:And ate laste it was a Mous,The which was bore and to norriceBetake; and tho thei hield hem nyce,For thei withoute cause dradde.Thus if a king his herte laddeWith every thing that he schal hiere,Fulofte he scholde change his chiereAnd upon fantasie drede,Whan that ther is no cause of drede. 3580Orace to his Prince tolde,That him were levere that he woldeUpon knihthode Achillem suieIn time of werre, thanne eschuie,So as Tersites dede at Troie.Achilles al his hole joieSette upon Armes forto fihte;Tersites soghte al that he myhteUnarmed forto stonde in reste:Bot of the tuo it was the beste 3590That Achilles upon the nedeHath do, wherof his knyhtlihiedeIs yit comended overal.King Salomon in specialSeith, as ther is a time of pes,So is a time nathelesOf werre, in which a Prince algateSchal for the comun riht debateAnd for his oghne worschipe eke.Bot it behoveth noght to seke 3600Only the werre for worschipe,Bot to the riht of his lordschipe,Which he is holde to defende,Mote every worthi Prince entende.Betwen the simplesce of PiteAnd the folhaste of crualte,Wher stant the verray hardiesce,Ther mote a king his herte adresce,Whanne it is time to forsake,And whan time is also to take 3610The dedly werres upon honde,That he schal for no drede wonde,If rihtwisnesse be withal.For god is myhty overalTo forthren every mannes trowthe,Bot it be thurgh his oghne slowthe;And namely the kinges nedeIt mai noght faile forto spede,For he stant one for hem alle;So mote it wel the betre falle 3620And wel the more god favoureth,Whan he the comun riht socoureth.And forto se the sothe in dede,Behold the bible and thou myht redeOf grete ensamples manyon,Wherof that I wol tellen on.Upon a time as it befell,Ayein Judee and IrahelWhan sondri kinges come wereIn pourpos to destruie there 3630The poeple which god kepte tho,-And stod in thilke daies so,That Gedeon, which scholde ledeThe goddes folk, tok him to rede,And sende in al the lond aboute,Til he assembled hath a routeWith thritti thousend of defence,To fihte and make resistenceAyein the whiche hem wolde assaille:And natheles that o bataille 3640Of thre that weren enemysWas double mor than was al his;Wherof that Gedeon him dradde,That he so litel poeple hadde.Bot he which alle thing mai helpe,Wher that ther lacketh mannes helpe,To Gedeon his Angel sente,And bad, er that he forther wente,Al openly that he do crieThat every man in his partie 3650Which wolde after his oghne willeIn his delice abide stilleAt hom in eny maner wise,For pourchas or for covoitise,For lust of love or lacke of herte,He scholde noght aboute sterte,Bot holde him stille at hom in pes:Wherof upon the morwe he lesWel twenty thousend men and mo,The whiche after the cri ben go. 3660Thus was with him bot only leftThe thridde part, and yit god eftHis Angel sende and seide thisTo Gedeon: "If it so isThat I thin help schal undertake,Thou schalt yit lasse poeple take,Be whom mi will is that thou spede.Forthi tomorwe tak good hiede,Unto the flod whan ye be come,What man that hath the water nome 3670Up in his hond and lapeth so,To thi part ches out alle tho;And him which wery is to swinke,Upon his wombe and lith to drinke,Forsak and put hem alle aweie.For I am myhti alle weie,Wher as me list myn help to scheweIn goode men, thogh thei ben fewe."This Gedeon awaiteth wel,Upon the morwe and everydel, 3680As god him bad, riht so he dede.And thus ther leften in that stedeWith him thre hundred and nomo,The remenant was al ago:Wherof that Gedeon merveileth,And therupon with god conseileth,Pleignende as ferforth as he dar.And god, which wolde he were warThat he schal spede upon his riht,Hath bede him go the same nyht 3690And take a man with him, to hiereWhat schal be spoke in his matereAmong the hethen enemis;So mai he be the more wys,What afterward him schal befalle.This Gedeon amonges allePhara, to whom he triste most,Be nyhte tok toward thilke host,Which logged was in a valleie,To hiere what thei wolden seie; 3700Upon his fot and as he ferde,Tuo Sarazins spekende he herde.Quod on, "Ared mi swevene ariht,Which I mette in mi slep to nyht.Me thoghte I sih a barli cake,Which fro the Hull his weie hath take,And cam rollende doun at ones;And as it were for the nones,Forth in his cours so as it ran,The kinges tente of Madian, 3710Of Amalech, of Amoreie,Of Amon and of Jebuseie,And many an other tente moWith gret noise, as me thoghte tho,It threw to grounde and overcaste,And al this host so sore agasteThat I awok for pure drede.""This swevene can I wel arede,"Quod thother Sarazin anon:"The barli cake is Gedeon, 3720Which fro the hell doun sodeinlySchal come and sette such ascryUpon the kinges and ous bothe,That it schal to ous alle lothe:For in such drede he schal ous bringe,That if we hadden flyht of wynge,The weie on fote in desespeirWe scholden leve and flen in their,For ther schal nothing him withstonde."Whan Gedeon hath understonde 3730This tale, he thonketh god of al,And priveliche ayein he stal,So that no lif him hath perceived.And thanne he hath fulli conceivedThat he schal spede; and theruponThe nyht suiende he schop to gonThis multitude to assaile.Nou schalt thou hiere a gret mervaile,With what voisdie that he wroghte.The litel poeple which he broghte, 3740Was non of hem that he ne hathA pot of erthe, in which he tathA lyht brennende in a kressette,And ech of hem ek a trompetteBar in his other hond beside;And thus upon the nyhtes tydeDuk Gedeon, whan it was derk,Ordeineth him unto his werk,And parteth thanne his folk in thre,And chargeth hem that thei ne fle, 3750And tawhte hem hou they scholde ascrieAlle in o vois per compaignie,And what word ek thei scholden speke,And hou thei scholde here pottes brekeEchon with other, whan thei herdeThat he himselve ferst so ferde;For whan thei come into the stede,He bad hem do riht as he dede.And thus stalkende forth a pasThis noble Duk, whan time was, 3760His pot tobrak and loude ascride,And tho thei breke on every side.The trompe was noght forto seke;He blew, and so thei blewen ekeWith such a noise among hem alle,As thogh the hevene scholde falle.The hull unto here vois ansuerde,This host in the valleie it herde,And sih hou that the hell alyhte;So what of hieringe and of sihte, 3770Thei cawhten such a sodein feere,That non of hem belefte there:The tentes hole thei forsoke,That thei non other good ne toke,Bot only with here bodi bareThei fledde, as doth the wylde Hare.And evere upon the hull thei blewe,Til that thei sihe time, and kneweThat thei be fled upon the rage;And whan thei wiste here avantage, 3780Thei felle anon unto the chace.Thus myht thou sen hou goddes graceUnto the goode men availeth;But elles ofte time it failethTo suche as be noght wel disposed.This tale nedeth noght be glosed,For it is openliche schewedThat god to hem that ben wel thewedHath yove and granted the victoire:So that thensample of this histoire 3790Is good for every king to holde;Ferst in himself that he beholdeIf he be good of his livinge,And that the folk which he schal bringeBe good also, for thanne he mayBe glad of many a merie day,In what as evere he hath to done.For he which sit above the MoneAnd alle thing mai spille and spede,In every cause, in every nede 3800His goode king so wel adresceth,That alle his fomen he represseth,So that ther mai noman him dere;And als so wel he can forbere,And soffre a wickid king to falleIn hondes of his fomen alle.Nou forthermore if I schal seinOf my matiere, and torne ayeinTo speke of justice and PiteAfter the reule of realte, 3810This mai a king wel understonde,Knihthode mot ben take on honde,Whan that it stant upon the nede:He schal no rihtful cause drede,Nomore of werre thanne of pes,If he wol stonde blameles;For such a cause a king mai haveThat betre him is to sle than save,Wherof thou myht ensample finde.The hihe makere of mankinde 3820Be Samuel to Sal bad,That he schal nothing ben adradAyein king Agag forto fihte;For this the godhede him behihte,That Agag schal ben overcome:And whan it is so ferforth come,That Sal hath him desconfit,The god bad make no respit,That he ne scholde him slen anon.Bot Sal let it overgon 3830And dede noght the goddes heste:For Agag made gret behesteOf rancoun which he wolde yive,King Sal soffreth him to liveAnd feigneth pite forth withal.Bot he which seth and knoweth al,The hihe god, of that he feignethTo Samuel upon him pleigneth,And sende him word, for that he lefteOf Agag that he ne berefte 3840The lif, he schal noght only dyeHimself, bot fro his regalieHe schal be put for everemo,Noght he, bot ek his heir also,That it schal nevere come ayein.Thus myht thou se the sothe plein,That of tomoche and of tolyteUpon the Princes stant the wyte.Bot evere it was a kinges rihtTo do the dedes of a knyht; 3850For in the handes of a kingThe deth and lif is al o thingAfter the lawes of justice.To slen it is a dedly vice,Bot if a man the deth deserve;And if a king the lif preserveOf him which oghte forto dye,He suieth noght thensamplerieWhich in the bible is evident:Hou David in his testament, 3860Whan he no lengere myhte live,Unto his Sone in charge hath yiveThat he Joab schal slen algate;And whan David was gon his gate,The yonge wise SalomonHis fader heste dede anon,And slouh Joab in such a wise,That thei that herden the juiseEvere after dradden him the more,And god was ek wel paid therfore, 3870That he so wolde his herte plyeThe lawes forto justefie.And yit he kepte forth withalPite, so as a Prince schal,That he no tirannie wroghte;He fond the wisdom which he soghte,And was so rihtful natheles,That al his lif he stod in pes,That he no dedly werres hadde,For every man his wisdom dradde. 3880And as he was himselve wys,Riht so the worthi men of prisHe hath of his conseil withholde;For that is every Prince holde,To make of suche his retenueWhiche wise ben, and to remueThe foles: for ther is nothingWhich mai be betre aboute a king,Than conseil, which is the substanceOf all a kinges governance. 3890In Salomon a man mai seeWhat thing of most necessiteUnto a worthi king belongeth.Whan he his kingdom underfongeth,God bad him chese what he wolde,And seide him that he have scholdeWhat he wolde axe, as of o thing.And he, which was a newe king,Forth therupon his bone preideTo god, and in this wise he seide: 3900"O king, be whom that I schal regne,Yif me wisdom, that I my regne,Forth with thi poeple which I have,To thin honour mai kepe and save."Whan Salomon his bone hath taxed,The god of that which he hath axedWas riht wel paid, and granteth soneNoght al only that he his boneSchal have of that, bot of richesse,Of hele, of pes, of hih noblesse, 3910Forth with wisdom at his axinges,Which stant above alle othre thinges.Bot what king wole his regne save,Ferst him behoveth forto haveAfter the god and his believeSuch conseil which is to believe,Fulfild of trouthe and rihtwisnesse:Bot above alle in his noblesseBetwen the reddour and piteA king schal do such equite 3920And sette the balance in evene,So that the hihe god in heveneAnd al the poeple of his nobleieLoange unto his name seie.For most above all erthli good,Wher that a king himself is goodIt helpeth, for in other weieIf so be that a king forsueie,Fulofte er this it hath be sein,The comun poeple is overlein 3930And hath the kinges Senne aboght,Al thogh the poeple agulte noght.Of that the king his god misserveth,The poeple takth that he descervethHier in this world, bot elleswhereI not hou it schal stonde there.Forthi good is a king to tristeFerst to himself, as he ne wisteNon other help bot god alone;So schal the reule of his persone 3940Withinne himself thurgh providenceBen of the betre conscience.And forto finde ensample of this,A tale I rede, and soth it is.In a Cronique it telleth thus:The king of Rome LuciusWithinne his chambre upon a nyhtThe Steward of his hous, a knyht,Forth with his Chamberlein also,To conseil hadde bothe tuo, 3950And stoden be the ChimineeTogedre spekende alle thre.And happeth that the kinges folSat be the fyr upon a stol,As he that with his babil pleide,Bot yit he herde al that thei seide,And therof token thei non hiede.The king hem axeth what to redeOf such matiere as cam to mouthe,And thei him tolden as thei couthe. 3960Whan al was spoke of that thei mente,The king with al his hole ententeThanne ate laste hem axeth this,What king men tellen that he is:Among the folk touchende his name,Or be it pris, or be it blame,Riht after that thei herden sein,He bad hem forto telle it plein,That thei no point of soth forbere,Be thilke feith that thei him bere. 3970The Steward ferst upon this thingYaf his ansuere unto the kingAnd thoghte glose in this matiere,And seide, als fer as he can hiere,His name is good and honourable:Thus was the Stieward favorable,That he the trouthe plein ne tolde.The king thanne axeth, as he scholde,The Chamberlein of his avis.And he, that was soubtil and wys, 3980And somdiel thoghte upon his feith,Him tolde hou al the poeple seithThat if his conseil were trewe,Thei wiste thanne wel and kneweThat of himself he scholde beA worthi king in his degre:And thus the conseil he accusethIn partie, and the king excuseth.The fol, which herde of al the casThat time, as goddes wille was, 3990Sih that thei seiden noght ynowh,And hem to skorne bothe lowh,And to the king he seide tho:"Sire king, if that it were so,Of wisdom in thin oghne modThat thou thiselven were good,Thi conseil scholde noght be badde."The king therof merveille hadde,Whan that a fol so wisly spak,And of himself fond out the lack 4000Withinne his oghne conscience:And thus the foles evidence,Which was of goddes grace enspired,Makth that good conseil was desired.He putte awey the viciousAnd tok to him the vertuous;The wrongful lawes ben amended,The londes good is wel despended,The poeple was nomore oppressed,And thus stod every thing redressed. 4010For where a king is propre wys,And hath suche as himselven isOf his conseil, it mai noght faileThat every thing ne schal availe:The vices thanne gon aweie,And every vertu holt his weie;Wherof the hihe god is plesed,And al the londes folk is esed.For if the comun poeple crie,And thanne a king list noght to plie 4020To hiere what the clamour wolde,And otherwise thanne he scholdeDesdeigneth forto don hem grace,It hath be sen in many place,Ther hath befalle gret contraire;And that I finde of ensamplaire.After the deth of Salomon,Whan thilke wise king was gon,And Roboas in his personeReceive scholde the corone, 4030The poeple upon a ParlementAvised were of on assent,And alle unto the king thei preiden,With comun vois and thus thei seiden:"Oure liege lord, we thee besecheThat thou receive oure humble specheAnd grante ous that which reson wile,Or of thi grace or of thi skile.Thi fader, whil he was alyveAnd myhte bothe grante and pryve, 4040Upon the werkes whiche he haddeThe comun poeple streite ladde:Whan he the temple made newe,Thing which men nevere afore kneweHe broghte up thanne of his taillage,And al was under the visageOf werkes whiche he made tho.Bot nou it is befalle so,That al is mad, riht as he seide,And he was riche whan he deide; 4050So that it is no maner nede,If thou therof wolt taken hiede,To pilen of the poeple more,Which long time hath be grieved sore.And in this wise as we thee seie,With tendre herte we thee preieThat thou relesse thilke dette,Which upon ous thi fader sette.And if thee like to don so,We ben thi men for everemo, 4060To gon and comen at thin heste."The king, which herde this requeste,Seith that he wole ben avised,And hath therof a time assised;And in the while as he him thoghteUpon this thing, conseil he soghte.And ferst the wise knyhtes olde,To whom that he his tale tolde,Conseilen him in this manere;That he with love and with glad chiere 4070Foryive and grante al that is axedOf that his fader hadde taxed;For so he mai his regne achieveWith thing which schal him litel grieve.The king hem herde and overpasseth,And with these othre his wit compasseth,That yonge were and nothing wise.And thei these olde men despise,And seiden: "Sire, it schal be schameFor evere unto thi worthi name, 4080If thou ne kepe noght the riht,Whil thou art in thi yonge myht,Which that thin olde fader gat.Bot seie unto the poeple plat,That whil thou livest in thi lond,The leste finger of thin hondIt schal be strengere overalThan was thi fadres bodi al.And this also schal be thi tale,If he hem smot with roddes smale, 4090With Scorpions thou schalt hem smyte;And wher thi fader tok a lyte,Thou thenkst to take mochel more.Thus schalt thou make hem drede soreThe grete herte of thi corage,So forto holde hem in servage.This yonge king him hath conformedTo don as he was last enformed,Which was to him his undoinge:For whan it cam to the spekinge, 4100He hath the yonge conseil holde,That he the same wordes toldeOf al the poeple in audience;And whan thei herden the sentenceOf his malice and the manace,Anon tofore his oghne faceThei have him oultreli refusedAnd with ful gret reproef accused.So thei begunne forto rave,That he was fain himself to save; 4110For as the wilde wode rageOf wyndes makth the See salvage,And that was calm bringth into wawe,So for defalte of grace and laweThis poeple is stered al at onesAnd forth thei gon out of hise wones;So that of the lignages tuelveTuo tribes only be hemselveWith him abiden and nomo:So were thei for everemo 4120Of no retorn withoute espeirDeparted fro the rihtfull heir.Al Irahel with comun voisA king upon here oghne choisAmong hemself anon thei make,And have here yonge lord forsake;A povere knyht JeroboasThei toke, and lefte Roboas,Which rihtfull heir was be descente.Lo, thus the yonge cause wente: 4130For that the conseil was noght good,The regne fro the rihtfull blodEvere afterward divided was.So mai it proven be this casThat yong conseil, which is to warm,Er men be war doth ofte harm.Old age for the conseil serveth,And lusti youthe his thonk deservethUpon the travail which he doth;And bothe, forto seie a soth, 4140Be sondri cause forto have,If that he wole his regne save,A king behoveth every day.That on can and that other mai,Be so the king hem bothe reule,For elles al goth out of reule.And upon this matiere alsoA question betwen the tuoThus writen in a bok I fond;Wher it be betre for the lond 4150A king himselve to be wys,And so to bere his oghne pris,And that his consail be noght good,Or other wise if it so stod,A king if he be viciousAnd his conseil be vertuous.It is ansuerd in such a wise,That betre it is that thei be wiseBe whom that the conseil schal gon,For thei be manye, and he is on; 4160And rathere schal an one manWith fals conseil, for oght he can,From his wisdom be mad to falle,Thanne he al one scholde hem alleFro vices into vertu change,For that is wel the more strange.Forthi the lond mai wel be glad,Whos king with good conseil is lad,Which set him unto rihtwisnesse,So that his hihe worthinesse 4170Betwen the reddour and PiteDoth mercy forth with equite.A king is holden overalTo Pite, bot in specialTo hem wher he is most beholde;Thei scholde his Pite most beholdeThat ben the Lieges of his lond,For thei ben evere under his hondAfter the goddes ordinaunceTo stonde upon his governance. 4180Of themperour AnthoniusI finde hou that he seide thus,That levere him were forto saveOon of his lieges than to haveOf enemis a thousend dede.And this he lernede, as I rede,Of Cipio, which hadde beConsul of Rome. And thus to seDiverse ensamples hou thei stonde,A king which hath the charge on honde 4190The comun poeple to governe,If that he wole, he mai wel lerne.Is non so good to the plesanceOf god, as is good governance;And every governance is dueTo Pite: thus I mai argueThat Pite is the foundementOf every kinges regiment,If it be medled with justice.Thei tuo remuen alle vice, 4200And ben of vertu most vailableTo make a kinges regne stable.Lo, thus the foure pointz tofore,In governance as thei ben bore,Of trouthe ferst and of largesse,Of Pite forth with rihtwisnesse,I have hem told; and over thisThe fifte point, so as it isSet of the reule of Policie,Wherof a king schal modefie 4210The fleisschly lustes of nature,Nou thenk I telle of such mesure,That bothe kinde schal be servedAnd ek the lawe of god observed.The Madle is mad for the the femele,Bot where as on desireth fele,That nedeth noght be weie of kinde:For whan a man mai redy findeHis oghne wif, what scholde he secheIn strange places to beseche 4220To borwe an other mannes plouh,Whan he hath geere good ynouhAffaited at his oghne heste,And is to him wel more honesteThan other thing which is unknowe?Forthi scholde every good man knoweAnd thenke, hou that in mariageHis trouthe pliht lith in morgage,Which if he breke, it is falshode,And that descordeth to manhode, 4230And namely toward the grete,Wherof the bokes alle trete;So as the Philosophre techethTo Alisandre, and him betechethThe lore hou that he schal mesureHis bodi, so that no mesureOf fleisshly lust he scholde excede.And thus forth if I schal procede,The fifte point, as I seide er,Is chastete, which sielde wher 4240Comth nou adaies into place;And natheles, bot it be graceAbove alle othre in special,Is non that chaste mai ben all.Bot yit a kinges hihe astat,Which of his ordre as a prelatSchal ben enoignt and seintefied,He mot be more magnefiedFor dignete of his corone,Than scholde an other low persone, 4250Which is noght of so hih emprise.Therfore a Prince him scholde avise,Er that he felle in such riote,And namely that he nassoteTo change for the wommanhedeThe worthinesse of his manhede.Of Aristotle I have wel rad,Hou he to Alisandre bad,That forto gladen his corageHe schal beholde the visage 4260Of wommen, whan that thei ben faire.Bot yit he set an essamplaire,His bodi so to guide and reule,That he ne passe noght the reule,Wherof that he himself beguile.For in the womman is no guileOf that a man himself bewhapeth;Whan he his oghne wit bejapeth,I can the wommen wel excuse:Bot what man wole upon hem muse 4270After the fool impressionOf his ymaginacioun,Withinne himself the fyr he bloweth,Wherof the womman nothing knoweth,So mai sche nothing be to wyte.For if a man himself exciteTo drenche, and wol it noght forbere,The water schal no blame bere.What mai the gold, thogh men coveite?If that a man wol love streite, 4280The womman hath him nothing bounde;If he his oghne herte wounde,Sche mai noght lette the folie;And thogh so felle of compainieThat he myht eny thing pourchace,Yit makth a man the ferste chace,The womman fleth and he poursuieth:So that be weie of skile it suieth,The man is cause, hou so befalle,That he fulofte sithe is falle 4290Wher that he mai noght wel aryse.And natheles ful manye wiseBefoled have hemself er this,As nou adaies yit it isAmong the men and evere was,The stronge is fieblest in this cas.It sit a man be weie of kindeTo love, bot it is noght kindeA man for love his wit to lese:For if the Monthe of Juil schal frese 4300And that Decembre schal ben hot,The yeer mistorneth, wel I wot.To sen a man fro his astatThurgh his sotie effeminat,And leve that a man schal do,It is as Hose above the Scho,To man which oghte noght ben used.Bot yit the world hath ofte accusedFul grete Princes of this dede,Hou thei for love hemself mislede, 4310Wherof manhode stod behinde,Of olde ensamples as I finde.These olde gestes tellen thus,That whilom Sardana Pallus,Which hield al hol in his empireThe grete kingdom of Assire,Was thurgh the slouthe of his corageFalle into thilke fyri rageOf love, which the men assoteth,Wherof himself he so rioteth, 4320And wax so ferforth wommannyssh,That ayein kinde, as if a fisshAbide wolde upon the lond,In wommen such a lust he fond,That he duelte evere in chambre stille,And only wroghte after the willeOf wommen, so as he was bede,That selden whanne in other stedeIf that he wolde wenden oute,To sen hou that it stod aboute. 4330Bot ther he keste and there he pleide,Thei tawhten him a Las to breide,And weve a Pours, and to enfileA Perle: and fell that ilke while,On Barbarus the Prince of MedeSih hou this king in wommanhedeWas falle fro chivalerie,And gat him help and compaignie,And wroghte so, that ate lasteThis king out of his regne he caste, 4340Which was undon for everemo:And yit men speken of him so,That it is schame forto hiere.Forthi to love is in manere.King David hadde many a love,Bot natheles alwey aboveKnyhthode he kepte in such a wise,That for no fleisshli covoitiseOf lust to ligge in ladi armesHe lefte noght the lust of armes. 4350For where a Prince hise lustes suieth,That he the werre noght poursuieth,Whan it is time to ben armed,His contre stant fulofte harmed,Whan thenemis ben woxe bolde,That thei defence non beholde.Ful many a lond hath so be lore,As men mai rede of time aforeOf hem that so here eses soghten,Which after thei full diere aboghten. 4360To mochel ese is nothing worth,For that set every vice forthAnd every vertu put abak,Wherof priss torneth into lak,As in Cronique I mai reherse:Which telleth hou the king of Perse,That Cirus hihte, a werre haddeAyein a poeple which he dradde,Of a contre which Liddos hihte;Bot yit for oght that he do mihte 4370As in bataille upon the werre,He hadde of hem alwey the werre.And whan he sih and wiste it wel,That he be strengthe wan no del,Thanne ate laste he caste a wyleThis worthi poeple to beguile,And tok with hem a feigned pes,Which scholde lasten endeles,So as he seide in wordes wise,Bot he thoghte al in other wise. 4380For it betidd upon the cas,Whan that this poeple in reste was,Thei token eses manyfold;And worldes ese, as it is told,Be weie of kinde is the norriceOf every lust which toucheth vice.Thus whan thei were in lustes falle,The werres ben foryeten alle;Was non which wolde the worschipeOf Armes, bot in idelschipe 4390Thei putten besinesse aweieAnd token hem to daunce and pleie;Bot most above alle othre thingesThei token hem to the likingesOf fleysshly lust, that chasteteReceived was in no degre,Bot every man doth what him liste.And whan the king of Perse it wiste,That thei unto folie entenden,With his pouer, whan thei lest wenden, 4400Mor sodeinly than doth the thunderHe cam, for evere and put hem under.And thus hath lecherie loreThe lond, which hadde be toforeThe beste of hem that were tho.And in the bible I finde alsoA tale lich unto this thing,Hou Amalech the paien king,Whan that he myhte be no weieDefende his lond and putte aweie 4410The worthi poeple of Irael,This Sarazin, as it befell,Thurgh the conseil of BalaamA route of faire wommen nam,That lusti were and yonge of Age,And bad hem gon to the lignageOf these Hebreus: and forth thei wenteWith yhen greye and browes benteAnd wel arraied everych on;And whan thei come were anon 4420Among thebreus, was non insihte,Bot cacche who that cacche myhte,And ech of hem hise lustes soghte,Whiche after thei full diere boghte.For grace anon began to faile,That whan thei comen to batailleThanne afterward, in sori plitThei were take and disconfit,So that withinne a litel throweThe myht of hem was overthrowe, 4430That whilom were wont to stonde.Til Phinees the cause on hondeHath take, this vengance laste,Bot thanne it cessede ate laste,For god was paid of that he dede:For wher he fond upon a stedeA couple which misferde so,Thurghout he smot hem bothe tuo,And let hem ligge in mennes yhe;Wherof alle othre whiche hem sihe 4440Ensamplede hem upon the dede,And preiden unto the godhiedeHere olde Sennes to amende:And he, which wolde his mercy sende,Restorede hem to newe grace.Thus mai it schewe in sondri place,Of chastete hou the clennesseAcordeth to the worthinesseOf men of Armes overal;Bot most of alle in special 4450This vertu to a king belongeth,For upon his fortune it hongethOf that his lond schal spede or spille.Forthi bot if a king his willeFro lustes of his fleissh restreigne,Ayein himself he makth a treigne,Into the which if that he slyde,Him were betre go besyde.For every man mai understonde,Hou for a time that it stonde, 4460It is a sori lust to lyke,Whos ende makth a man to sykeAnd torneth joies into sorwe.The brihte Sonne be the morweBeschyneth noght the derke nyht,The lusti youthe of mannes myht,In Age bot it stonde wel,Mistorneth al the laste whiel.That every worthi Prince is holdeWithinne himself himself beholde, 4470To se the stat of his persone,And thenke hou ther be joies noneUpon this Erthe mad to laste,And hou the fleissh schal ate lasteThe lustes of this lif forsake,Him oghte a gret ensample takeOf Salomon, whos appetitWas holy set upon delit,To take of wommen the plesance:So that upon his ignorance 4480The wyde world merveileth yit,That he, which alle mennes witIn thilke time hath overpassed,With fleisshly lustes was so tassed,That he which ladde under the laweThe poeple of god, himself withdraweHe hath fro god in such a wise,That he worschipe and sacrifiseFor sondri love in sondri stedeUnto the false goddes dede. 4490This was the wise ecclesiaste,The fame of whom schal evere laste,That he the myhti god forsok,Ayein the lawe whanne he tokHis wyves and his concubinesOf hem that weren Sarazines,For whiche he dede ydolatrie.For this I rede of his sotie:Sche of Sidoyne so him ladde,That he knelende his armes spradde 4500To Astrathen with gret humblesse,Which of hire lond was the goddesse:And sche that was a MoabiteSo ferforth made him to deliteThurgh lust, which al his wit devoureth,That he Chamos hire god honoureth.An other Amonyte alsoWith love him hath assoted so,Hire god Moloch that with encenseHe sacreth, and doth reverence 4510In such a wise as sche him bad.Thus was the wiseste overladWith blinde lustes whiche he soghte;Bot he it afterward aboghte.For Achias Selonites,Which was prophete, er his decess,Whil he was in hise lustes alle,Betokneth what schal after falle.For on a day, whan that he metteJeroboam the knyht, he grette 4520And bad him that he scholde abyde,To hiere what him schal betyde.And forth withal Achias casteHis mantell of, and also fasteHe kut it into pieces twelve,Wherof tuo partz toward himselveHe kepte, and al the remenant,As god hath set his covenant,He tok unto Jeroboas,Of Nabal which the Sone was, 4530And of the kinges court a knyht:And seide him, "Such is goddes myht,As thou hast sen departed hiereMi mantell, riht in such manereAfter the deth of SalomonGod hath ordeigned therupon,This regne thanne he schal divide:Which time thou schalt ek abide,And upon that divisionThe regne as in proporcion 4540As thou hast of mi mantell take,Thou schalt receive, I undertake.And thus the Sone schal abieThe lustes and the lecherieOf him which nou his fader is."So forto taken hiede of this,It sit a king wel to be chaste,For elles he mai lihtly wasteHimself and ek his regne bothe,And that oghte every king to lothe. 4550O, which a Senne violent,Wherof so wys a king was schent,That the vengance in his personeWas noght ynouh to take al one,Bot afterward, whan he was passed,It hath his heritage lassed,As I more openli toforeThe tale tolde. And thus therforeThe Philosophre upon this thingWrit and conseileth to a king, 4560That he the surfet of luxureSchal tempre and reule of such mesure,Which be to kinde sufficantAnd ek to reson acordant,So that the lustes ignoranceBe cause of no misgovernance,Thurgh which that he be overthrowe,As he that wol no reson knowe.For bot a mannes wit be swerved,Whan kinde is dueliche served, 4570It oghte of reson to suffise;For if it falle him otherwise,He mai tho lustes sore drede.For of Anthonie thus I rede,Which of Severus was the Sone,That he his lif of comun woneYaf holy unto thilke vice,And ofte time he was so nyce,Wherof nature hire hath compleignedUnto the god, which hath desdeigned 4580The werkes whiche Antonie wroghteOf lust, whiche he ful sore aboghte:For god his forfet hath so wrokeThat in Cronique it is yit spoke.Bot forto take remembranceOf special misgovernanceThurgh covoitise and injusticeForth with the remenant of vice,And nameliche of lecherie,I finde write a gret partie 4590Withinne a tale, as thou schalt hiere,Which is thensample of this matiere.So as these olde gestes sein,The proude tirannyssh RomeinTarquinus, which was thanne kingAnd wroghte many a wrongful thing,Of Sones hadde manyon,Among the whiche Arrons was on,Lich to his fader of maneres;So that withinne a fewe yeres 4600With tresoun and with tirannieThei wonne of lond a gret partie,And token hiede of no justice,Which due was to here officeUpon the reule of governance;Bot al that evere was plesanceUnto the fleisshes lust thei toke.And fell so, that thei undertokeA werre, which was noght achieved,Bot ofte time it hadde hem grieved, 4610Ayein a folk which thanne hihteThe Gabiens: and al be nyhteThis Arrons, whan he was at homIn Rome, a prive place he nomWithinne a chambre, and bet himselveAnd made him woundes ten or tuelveUpon the bak, as it was sene;And so forth with hise hurtes greneIn al the haste that he mayHe rod, and cam that other day 4620Unto Gabie the Cite,And in he wente: and whan that heWas knowe, anon the gates schette,The lordes alle upon him setteWith drawe swerdes upon honde.This Arrons wolde hem noght withstonde,Bot seide, "I am hier at your wille,Als lief it is that ye me spille,As if myn oghne fader dede."And forthwith in the same stede 4630He preide hem that thei wolde se,And schewede hem in what degreHis fader and hise brethren bothe,Whiche, as he seide, weren wrothe,Him hadde beten and reviled,For evere and out of Rome exiled.And thus he made hem to believe,And seide, if that he myhte achieveHis pourpos, it schal wel be yolde,Be so that thei him helpe wolde. 4640Whan that the lordes hadde seinHou wofully he was besein,Thei token Pite of his grief;Bot yit it was hem wonder liefThat Rome him hadde exiled so.These Gabiens be conseil thoUpon the goddes made him swere,That he to hem schal trouthe bereAnd strengthen hem with al his myht;And thei also him have behiht 4650To helpen him in his querele.Thei schopen thanne for his heleThat he was bathed and enoignt,Til that he was in lusti point;And what he wolde thanne he hadde,That he al hol the cite laddeRiht as he wolde himself divise.And thanne he thoghte him in what wiseHe myhte his tirannie schewe;And to his conseil tok a schrewe, 4660Whom to his fader forth he senteIn his message, and he tho wente,And preide his fader forto seieBe his avis, and finde a weie,Hou they the cite myhten winne,Whil that he stod so wel therinne.And whan the messager was comeTo Rome, and hath in conseil nomeThe king, it fell per chance soThat thei were in a gardin tho, 4670This messager forth with the king.And whanne he hadde told the thingIn what manere that it stod,And that Tarquinus understodBe the message hou that it ferde,Anon he tok in honde a yerde,And in the gardin as thei gon,The lilie croppes on and on,Wher that thei weren sprongen oute,He smot of, as thei stode aboute, 4680And seide unto the messager:"Lo, this thing, which I do nou hier,Schal ben in stede of thin ansuere;And in this wise as I me bere,Thou schalt unto mi Sone telle."And he no lengere wolde duelle,Bot tok his leve and goth withalUnto his lord, and told him al,Hou that his fader hadde do.Whan Arrons herde him telle so, 4690Anon he wiste what it mente,And therto sette al his entente,Til he thurgh fraude and tricherieThe Princes hefdes of GabieHath smiten of, and al was wonne:His fader cam tofore the SonneInto the toun with the Romeins,And tok and slowh the citezeinsWithoute reson or pite,That he ne spareth no degre. 4700And for the sped of this conquesteHe let do make a riche festeWith a sollempne SacrifiseIn Phebus temple; and in this wiseWhan the Romeins assembled were,In presence of hem alle there,Upon thalter whan al was dihtAnd that the fyres were alyht,From under thalter sodeinlyAn hidous Serpent openly 4710Cam out and hath devoured alThe Sacrifice, and ek withalThe fyres queynt, and forth anon,So as he cam, so is he gonInto the depe ground ayein.And every man began to sein,"Ha lord, what mai this signefie?"And therupon thei preie and crieTo Phebus, that thei mihten knoweThe cause: and he the same throwe 4720With gastly vois, that alle it herde,The Romeins in this wise ansuerde,And seide hou for the wikkidnesseOf Pride and of unrihtwisnesse,That Tarquin and his Sone hath do,The Sacrifice is wasted so,Which myhte noght ben acceptableUpon such Senne abhominable.And over that yit he hem wisseth,And seith that which of hem ferst kisseth 4730His moder, he schal take wriecheUpon the wrong: and of that specheThei ben withinne here hertes glade,Thogh thei outward no semblant made.Ther was a knyht which Brutus hihte,And he with al the haste he myhteTo grounde fell and therthe kiste,Bot non of hem the cause wiste,Bot wenden that he hadde spornedPer chance, and so was overtorned. 4740Bot Brutus al an other mente;For he knew wel in his ententeHou therthe of every mannes kindeIs Moder: bot thei weren blinde,And sihen noght so fer as he.Bot whan thei leften the CiteAnd comen hom to Rome ayein,Thanne every man which was RomeinAnd moder hath, to hire he bendeAnd keste, and ech of hem thus wende 4750To be the ferste upon the chance,Of Tarquin forto do vengance,So as thei herden Phebus sein.Bot every time hath his certein,So moste it nedes thanne abide,Til afterward upon a tydeTarquinus made unskilfullyA werre, which was fastebyAyein a toun with walles strongeWhich Ardea was cleped longe, 4760And caste a Siege theraboute,That ther mai noman passen oute.So it befell upon a nyht,Arrons, which hadde his souper diht,A part of the chivalerieWith him to soupe in compaignieHath bede: and whan thei comen wereAnd seten at the souper there,Among here othre wordes gladeArrons a gret spekinge made, 4770Who hadde tho the beste wifOf Rome: and ther began a strif,For Arrons seith he hath the beste.So jangle thei withoute reste,Til ate laste on Collatin,A worthi knyht, and was cousinTo Arrons, seide him in this wise:"It is," quod he, "of non empriseTo speke a word, bot of the dede,Therof it is to taken hiede. 4780Anon forthi this same tydeLep on thin hors and let ous ryde:So mai we knowe bothe tuoUnwarli what oure wyves do,And that schal be a trewe assay."This Arrons seith noght ones nay:On horse bak anon thei lepteIn such manere, and nothing slepte,Ridende forth til that thei comeAl prively withinne Rome; 4790In strange place and doun thei lihte,And take a chambre, and out of sihteThei be desguised for a throwe,So that no lif hem scholde knowe.And to the paleis ferst thei soghte,To se what thing this ladi wroghteOf which Arrons made his avant:And thei hire sihe of glad semblant,Al full of merthes and of bordes;Bot among alle hire othre wordes 4800Sche spak noght of hire housebonde.And whan thei hadde al understondeOf thilke place what hem liste,Thei gon hem forth, that non it wiste,Beside thilke gate of bras,Collacea which cleped was,Wher Collatin hath his duellinge.Ther founden thei at hom sittingeLucrece his wif, al environedWith wommen, whiche are abandoned 4810To werche, and sche wroghte ek withal,And bad hem haste, and seith, "It schalBe for mi housebondes were,Which with his swerd and with his spereLith at the Siege in gret desese.And if it scholde him noght displese,Nou wolde god I hadde him hiere;For certes til that I mai hiereSom good tidinge of his astat,Min herte is evere upon debat. 4820For so as alle men witnesse,He is of such an hardiesse,That he can noght himselve spare,And that is al my moste care,Whan thei the walles schulle assaile.Bot if mi wisshes myhte availe,I wolde it were a groundles pet,Be so the Siege were unknet,And I myn housebonde sihe."With that the water in hire yhe 4830Aros, that sche ne myhte it stoppe,And as men sen the dew bedroppeThe leves and the floures eke,Riht so upon hire whyte chekeThe wofull salte teres felle.Whan Collatin hath herd hire telleThe menynge of hire trewe herte,Anon with that to hire he sterte,And seide, "Lo, mi goode diere,Nou is he come to you hiere, 4840That ye most loven, as ye sein."And sche with goodly chiere ayeinBeclipte him in hire armes smale,And the colour, which erst was pale,To Beaute thanne was restored,So that it myhte noght be mored.The kinges Sone, which was nyh,And of this lady herde and syhThe thinges as thei ben befalle,The resoun of hise wittes alle 4850Hath lost; for love upon his partCam thanne, and of his fyri dartWith such a wounde him hath thurghsmite,That he mot nedes fiele and witeOf thilke blinde maladie,To which no cure of SurgerieCan helpe. Bot yit nathelesAt thilke time he hield his pes,That he no contienance made,Bot openly with wordes glade, 4860So as he couthe in his manere,He spak and made frendly chiere,Til it was time forto go.And Collatin with him alsoHis leve tok, so that be nyhteWith al the haste that thei myhteThei riden to the Siege ayein.Bot Arrons was so wo beseinWith thoghtes whiche upon him runne,That he al be the brode Sunne 4870To bedde goth, noght forto reste,Bot forto thenke upon the besteAnd the faireste forth withal,That evere he syh or evere schal,So as him thoghte in his corage,Where he pourtreieth hire ymage:Ferst the fetures of hir face,In which nature hadde alle graceOf wommanly beaute beset,So that it myhte noght be bet; 4880And hou hir yelwe her was trescedAnd hire atir so wel adresced,And hou sche spak, and hou sche wroghte,And hou sche wepte, al this he thoghte,That he foryeten hath no del,Bot al it liketh him so wel,That in the word nor in the dedeHire lacketh noght of wommanhiede.And thus this tirannysshe knyhtWas soupled, bot noght half ariht, 4890For he non other hiede tok,Bot that he myhte be som crok,Althogh it were ayein hire wille,The lustes of his fleissh fulfille;Which love was noght resonable,For where honour is remuable,It oghte wel to ben avised.Bot he, which hath his lust assisedWith melled love and tirannie,Hath founde upon his tricherie 4900A weie which he thenkth to holde,And seith, "Fortune unto the boldeIs favorable forto helpe."And thus withinne himself to yelpe,As he which was a wylde man,Upon his treson he began:And up he sterte, and forth he wenteOn horsebak, bot his ententeTher knew no wiht, and thus he namThe nexte weie, til he cam 4910Unto Collacea the gateOf Rome, and it was somdiel late,Riht evene upon the Sonne set,As he which hadde schape his netHire innocence to betrappe.And as it scholde tho mishappe,Als priveliche as evere he myhteHe rod, and of his hors alyhteTofore Collatines In,And al frendliche he goth him in, 4920As he that was cousin of house.And sche, which is the goode spouse,Lucrece, whan that sche him sih,With goodli chiere drowh him nyh,As sche which al honour supposeth,And him, so as sche dar, opposethHou it stod of hire housebonde.And he tho dede hire understondeWith tales feigned in his wise,Riht as he wolde himself devise, 4930Wherof he myhte hire herte glade,That sche the betre chiere made,Whan sche the glade wordes herde,Hou that hire housebonde ferde.And thus the trouthe was deceivedWith slih tresoun, which was receivedTo hire which mente alle goode;For as the festes thanne stode,His Souper was ryht wel arraied.Bot yit he hath no word assaied 4940To speke of love in no degre;Bot with covert subtiliteHis frendly speches he affaiteth,And as the Tigre his time awaitethIn hope forto cacche his preie.Whan that the bordes were aweieAnd thei have souped in the halle,He seith that slep is on him falle,And preith he moste go to bedde;And sche with alle haste spedde, 4950So as hire thoghte it was to done,That every thing was redi sone.Sche broghte him to his chambre tho